


The Omnic Picnic

by gyromitra



Series: Drabble Things that might be continued or not [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murdering the hell out of that PlotBunny, Roadside Picnic AU, Stalker AU (meaning: 1. The movie by Tarkowski. 2. The game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 14:36:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15974360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: Three excerpts from Stalker/Roadside Picnic AU, not necessarily in the correct order.Every Zone has its own legends but only two intertwined stories are shared between all of them: the fabled Wish-Granter that lies at the center of the Zone, and the one stalker that can lead you there.





	The Omnic Picnic

**Author's Note:**

> Go read Roadside Picnic. Watch Stalker. Good stuff.  
> Otherwise, plotwise, the Zones appear after the formation of the Overwatch Team, eight in total. After many years, the 'exclusion' part exists mostly on paper as there is a whole economy created around the Zones and the Artifacts. For shits and giggles, Russian EZ is relocated to Pripyat/Chernobyl in accordance to the game. (I have some geopolitical acrobatics for the Zone to be under Russian control even if on Ukrainian soil. Of course, this fact has nothing to do with the plot.)

It is damn convenient then, Reaper would think, that a young stalker that goes by Jack – just Jack but everyone knows which Jack they mean when they refer to him as such – dressed in worn military fatigues with a faded Overwatch patch on the shoulder – offers to guide them to the Watchpoint settlement. For a hefty sum of money, of course, and only after they pay for the special gear only the kookiest trader (an Aussie, of all things possible) in the town carries.

Reaper would think that, surely, if not for the fact Jack silently slides into the seat by his side an hour earlier and grabs the cup of badly filtered alcohol waiting for him.

“What do you think?”

“Bad group,” Jack grimaces, and the scar crossing his lips pulls on his skin. “It will be hard. We’ll get to Watchpoint no problem but it’s bad energy. The Zone doesn’t like the look of them. They’ll need a lot of protection if they really want to go to the center.”

Once, long ago, Reaper would have laughed him out of the settlement but that has been before he had seen Jack drunkenly put the gun to his own head and walk away the next day. Or before he had seen Soldier in Pripyat fighting alongside the reds to cull the population of local fauna.

“Wsie znajut Soldata,” Zarya laughed as she threw her arm over Reaper’s shoulders after the skirmish. “Now, come drink, towarisz, to victory nad mutantami for occzizna.”

“Would be a shame if he didn’t take you on because you’ll fry on the first Sparkler you stumble into, Soldier’s picky like that,” Jack rolls his eyes an hour later at Akande’s protests over the list of the required purchases. “Well, not you, apparently, because you can survive one without any gear,” he smirks at Reaper.

He’s not wrong but the experience is nothing he would care to repeat.

Reaper can tell this is going to be a long trip since Jack is already rubbing him the wrong way, and he would be lying if he ever said he doesn’t like that about the man.

 

*

 

“Doesn’t look impressive,” Reaper gasps, taking in the black fluid surface wavering in the air. At his side, Jack chuckles mirthlessly and wipes at the grime and blood sticking to his cheek and succeeds only at smearing it further. “What?”

“No, nothing, just,” Jack’s voice hitches on every other word when he looks back at him. He shakes his head. “You said this, the same thing, the same goddamn thing, before, here.”

Impossible. Because this, this here, was the first time he had accompanied a group to the very center of the Zone, the place no-one ever came back from except Jack.

“Twenty-six, twenty-six fucking years ago, you made – made a wish – some goddamn fucking wish, and of course, it – it did what it does, it’s the fucking Wish-Granter,” stepping back, Jack lets out a strained laugh. “Just wondering who – who buried me in that shallow grave I had to dig out of, and…”

Twenty-six years, quick math. Reaper feels his fingers trembling, the clods of earth slipping through the gaps between them some kind of muscle memory.

“Doesn’t matter. Make your wish. Make your wish and let’s finish this because I can’t take it anymore. I can’t, and it won’t let me leave.”

 

*

 

They leave Ana behind with Reinhardt, to wait for the rescue everyone doubts will come, or their return.

On the second day after they split, just as Gabriel has his back turned, one of the creatures gets Jack – leaving deep gashes on his face and across his chest and stomach. What meager supplies they have left are enough only for basic treatment.

By the fifth day they reach the ruined farmhouse; the building gives an impression of a strange amalgam of separate constructions joined together with thick uneven seams like a patchwork quilt made with different fabrics, only in place of scraps of cloth it’s walls, doors, and windows.

Jack struggles to keep standing as Gabriel checks the instruments.

“Readings are, we’re… Eight GPS coordinates. Each corresponds with…”

“Eight zones,” Jack murmurs, his unresponsive fingers trying to unscrew the lid of his canteen. Gabriel takes it from him and hands it back open. “So there’s only one,” he slurs between greedy sips of the remaining water. “One zone in eight places.”

As outlandish as it sounds, it makes a strange kind of sense.

“Let’s set up camp inside, we’re not going to find any place as good as this before the nightfall on the way back,” Gabriel nudges Jack, and maneuvers his arm over his shoulder to support him. If he were on his own he would check out the building and get moving fast but Jack needs rest, and his fever is not breaking, only growing worse. “Maybe the readings will change.”

“Yeah,” Jack mumbles as they slowly make their way through the maze inside, the crumbling concrete crunching under their feet – until he stumbles and Gabriel has to stop for a moment to keep them both steady. “…I can’t see.”

“You’re tired. Just need a nap,” Gabriel mutters through clenched teeth. Past the doorway, in front of them, he can see the room with no other entrances. A few more steps, and with his burden he sinks to the ground.

Above, a glistening indiscernible back shape hovers – its surface a viscous liquid crisscrossed by flowing waves.

“Something’s… here,” Jack leans his head against his shoulder and Gabriel can feel his blazing hot breath, too fast and too shallow, on his neck, lighter and lighter. “Can hear…”

“Doesn’t look impressive,” Gabriel holds him close. Something is coming to its end.

“Show me… later?”

“Yeah, later,” the breath is no longer leaving a burning mark on his skin.

The next day Gabriel digs out a shallow hole with his bare hands. After he’s done, he plants a plank in the earth and ties two sets of dog tags around it.

He comes back inside and takes new readings trying not to think. If he had been stronger, faster, more careful…

A man wakes on the edge of the American Exclusion Zone – the biggest of the eight Zones – just past the military cordon. With no memories, a particular set of skills, and a strange mutation. With no past, only the future.


End file.
